On that lonely height, the Ringwraiths found them. Frodo, defying the terror, put on the ring to escape—and was immediately plunged into the wraith-world, a pale, shadowed realm where the Dark Lord’s servants were terrible and clear. The Witch-king of Angmar drove a Morgul-blade into Frodo’s shoulder. A shard of ice-cold evil lodged near his heart.
And behind them, Aragorn stood at the edge of the forest, watching them go. He bowed his head, then turned to save the others. The first part of the quest was over. The true journey had only just begun.
The Shire was no longer safe.
Frodo, who had never ventured farther than the edge of his own field, was given a burden heavier than any hobbit had ever carried. “You must leave,” Gandalf said. “And you cannot take the road you know.” lord of the rings film 1
Their path led them south, over the frozen pass of Caradhras—a mountain that roared with unnatural snow. When the mountain defeated them, they dared the dark road beneath the world: the Mines of Moria. In the great hall of Dwarrowdelf, they found only dust and bones. The Dwarves had dug too deep. A terror from the deep ages—a Balrog, a demon of flame and shadow—rose against them. Gandalf stood on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, facing the creature of fire.
The Fellowship was born. Nine companions against the nine Ringwraiths: Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Aragorn (for Strider was the heir of Isildur), Boromir of Gondor, Gimli the Dwarf, and Legolas the Elf. Their mission: to carry the Ring into the black land of Mordor and cast it into the fires of Mount Doom.
For three years, Frodo kept the ring hidden, but Gandalf did not forget it. He returned with troubling news. The ring was not a simple trinket. It was the One Ring, forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom. Sauron had poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life into that single band of gold. And now, Sauron had learned the ring was awake. The Dark Lord’s nine servants—the Ringwraiths, shapeless terrors who once were kings of Men—had entered the world again. They were hunting for Baggins. On that lonely height, the Ringwraiths found them
Finally, Frodo stood before them all, small and wounded, and spoke the words that decided the fate of the world: “I will take it. I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though I do not know the way.”
Had Arwen, the Elf-queen of Rivendell, not come riding like a storm wind on a white horse, Frodo would have faded into a wraith himself. She carried him across the rushing Ford of Bruinen, where she raised her hand and called down a flood of water shaped like charging horses, sweeping the Nine away.
In the peaceful green hills of the Shire, where hobbits thought of nothing more than second breakfasts and the blooming of the mallorn tree, a quiet darkness was stirring. For sixty years, the hobbit Bilbo Baggins had kept a secret in his pocket—a golden ring that made its wearer invisible. On the eve of his eleventy-first birthday, he vanished during his own grand speech, using the ring to slip away from his startled guests. A shard of ice-cold evil lodged near his heart
And so, under cover of night, Frodo slipped out of Hobbiton with his loyal gardener, Samwise Gamgee. They were soon joined by two unlikely companions: the mischievous Meriadoc “Merry” Brandybuck and the stout-hearted Peregrin “Pippin” Took. Together, the four hobbits fled east, dodging the terrifying cries of the Black Riders and the prying eyes of spies.
Frodo looked at Sam, then at the dark mountains of Mordor rising in the east. He nodded. The two hobbits turned their backs on the Fellowship and walked alone into the unknown—into a land of ash and shadow, where no hope had gone before.